It's Just a Stupid Holiday
by Thalaba
Summary: AU Twoshot. Smut with some plot. Katie knows her relationship is going downhill fast. But can she handle this? JKR owns the characters, not me!
1. Chapter 1

**It's a Stupid Muggle Holiday:**

"Katie girl, wot the bloody hell are ya on about? Why'd ya drag me here?" Oliver regarded the hanging plastic spiders with distaste, rolling his eyes at the images of green-faced witches on brooms that obviously wouldn't hold Professor Flitwick let alone a bloke like himself. He had had a gruelling match against Portree two days ago and he still wasn't over the beat. He didn't have time or energy to follow Katie all over Muggle London even if it was the most he had seen of her this month.

"I know you think it's just a stupid Muggle holiday," Katie replied stiffly from behind a rack of rhinestone-covered dresses and—Was _that_ how Muggles imagined fairies? "But everyone is going. Even the twins consider it a novelty." She rounded the corner, approaching Oliver with a long black robe made of spring-y velvet material. "And since the Ministry is advertising this event—i.e. _my_ department—I'd appreciate if my Quidditch star boyfriend would deign to make an appearance."

Oliver cleared his throat and took a keen interest in a candy display, avoiding Katie's narrowed blue eyes.

"Wot am I supposed to be?" he gestured at the costume in her arms.

"Well…you could think of it as a Dementor." He frowned.

"And wot are ya wearing?" She held up a hanger.

"I'll be a pirate."

"Ya'll look like Rosemerta."

"Then I'll be a lusty bar wench!" Katie hit Oliver's shoulder hard and turned to the check-out, muttering about why she even bothered anymore.

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"Oliver!" Katie hissed into the dark room, the silly purple pirate hat she'd been wearing all night clutched in one hand at her hip. "Oliver!" She was angry and verging on disillusionment. First Oliver had tried to back out, knee twinge he said. Katie informed her boyfriend that she wouldn't dream of making him dance but if he didn't show up she most certainly wouldn't be attending the Samhain celebrations at his mother's farm. The knee got better. Then Katie received an owl from him not four hours ago saying he'd meet her at the entrance later. He wouldn't even be escorting her inside! After all the hard work, all the time she'd put in to making this quirky little evening a success, Katie would have to walk into a sea of couples stag?!

And now a co-worker had passed her a note. Oliver was upstairs waiting for her, needed to talk. Oh really? She'd give him a piece of her mind. Katie had put a lot into this three year relationship and she didn't even have a ring to show for it.

"Lumos," she called harshly, inhaling a slow enraged breath when the walls scones failed to light. Cutbacks. "Oliver Wood, when I get my hands—" The mostly-empty threat was cut off as a mouth descended upon her own, arms locking around her waist and pulling her forward against a muscled torso. Katie's hands went up, a scream building, but at the feel of loose velvet the fear dropped, irritation then slowly being replaced by sudden need. Her angry energy had to go somewhere, and if this was Oliver's attempt at an apology Katie could rant at him tomorrow.

She was being lifted, her back hitting the wall as hungry lips sucked and nipped at her own. How long had it been? He was usually so tired. A litany of Yes and More fell from Katie's lips, and then she was being turned around, cheek pressed to the wallpaper and her gaudy, overly-striped skirt bunched up around her waist.

"Yes," the blond panted, taking the hand that paused at her knickers and directing it under the elastic, the large palm cupping her mound as fingers slipped between her folds. She arched back and the underwear was pushed down as hot flesh pressed between her legs, feet spreading to help her take Oliver's arousal. She hissed sharply as he entered, comforted when his thumb immediately circled her clit, fingers spreading her slickness and urging her towards completion. He was working hard tonight Katie thought, as one long thrust had her seeing stars, the rhythm deliciously erratic as her nerve center was suddenly tapped, and again, eliciting high gasps. But then anyone could come up here and find them. She came biting down on her forearm, sinking into the free hand that pinched her nipple through the cotton pirate bodice.

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The least he could have done was cast a cleansing charm before walking out! Katie fumed as she entered the ballroom, her anger once again building despite the pleasant throbbing shooting through her pussy at each step. She was gratified to see Oliver standing near the punch table then; at least Katie wouldn't have to track the bastard down.

"Where the hell have ya been? I've been waiting forever Katie!" The curse was swallowed as Katie took in her boyfriend's livid face, giving him a look of confusion in return. She was the injured party here, not him! "Fred's drunk off his arse, George and the girls already left, and—Oh bloody hell! Ya couldn't even find me an original costume!" Flabbergasted at his attitude, Katie followed the direction of his heated gaze.

In his own Dementor's outfit halfway across the room drinking a glass of champagne, Marcus Flint nodded to the couple, the brilliant new smirk that had landed him on the cover of Witch Weekly beaming brightly in the flashing lights. Katie swallowed.

"I'm tired of this and I want to go home." Oliver didn't comment on his girlfriend's paled countenance.

"It's just a stupid holiday."

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Katie's angry flats clambered down the crowded hallway. Her co-workers had learned to avoid Ms. Bell—Head of Muggle Research—this past week and today was no exception as the blond dynamo was headed to a meeting with a possible contributor to her department. Merlin, she would rather be heading to a Potions final. It wasn't that Katie was not a capable negotiator or administrator; it wasn't that Katie was sick of her career and looking for a way out. What was particularly pissing off Katie Bell today was that she was headed to the presidential offices of Flint Enterprises.

Three guesses whom she was supposed to meet there.

The last seven days had seen Katie snapping at her friends and fellow Ministry employees—something rather uncharacteristic for the usually mild-tempered ex-Chaser—and thoroughly fawning over Oliver in the bedroom. In her opinion she had gone above and beyond the actions of a sane woman to wheedle some attention from her boyfriend. The massages and lingerie were nothing new, but going as far to tie _herself_ up on their bed and waiting like a naked feast for a Keeper who didn't even show up left Katie with nothing but sore shoulders to match the unrelenting frustration between her legs. Her ire was increased after going down on Oliver last night only to watch him fall asleep soon after, and Katie absolutely hated sucking cock. There was no interaction in it, no sounds, no appraisal. Oliver would clench the sheets and grunt and jerk and that would be that. He may as well be the only one in the room for all the pleasure she ever got out of it. And Katie wanted pleasure. And she wanted pleasure from her boyfriend, the man who was _supposed_ to give it to her.

What Katie really needed through was to stop thinking of hands and lips and _parts_ that belonged to the biggest git she had ever known, especially now. Whatever had possessed him to grab her and…Well he had to have been drunk. Or following through on a dare from one of his immature friends who just couldn't let house rivalry go. Or-or too lazy to go find a prostitute. Katie made a fist and tightened her grip on her briefcase, willing herself to stop thinking. There was no way in Salazar's Hell that Marcus bloody Flint was going to make her feel like a whore.

Katie was shown into a sumptuous office by a steely grey-haired secretary upon arrival. The small woman took Katie's travelling robes without a smile, leaving Ms. Bell to smooth out her three piece suit as Marcus continued to sign scrolls, not looking up from his desk. Her lips thinned as she approached, clearing her throat.

"Good morning Mr. Flint. We had an appointment for ten I was told."

"You're late." Katie bit her tongue.

"I was only informed about this meeting an hour ago. If you've been waiting—"

"Well maybe you should start coming to work on time Bell," he made a vague gesture towards the uncomfortable looking chair that awaited visitors obviously intending for Katie to sit down, which she did after a moments consideration of snatching the quill from his hand and stabbing it through those emerald eyes of his. She increased her aura of professionalism and placed her briefcase on the desk, snapping open the metal clasps and retrieving the Ministry approved package that outlined through graphs and diagrams where philanthropic interests may lie. The Ministry was always looking for hefty donations: this was her job and she would focus on her mission.

"You may already be aware that the Muggle Research Department—"

"Your department's a joke."

So much for focus and professionalism.

Katie tossed the stack of papers and moving images on top of Flint's work with a quick flick of her wrist, feeling a small drop of satisfaction as his quill snapped in two under the weight.

"Why the bloody hell am I here Flint?" she spat, standing to close the briefcase and hopefully make a quick exit. "Why did you schedule this meeting when you're damn lucky I haven't slapped you with a rape charge?" Oh _that_ got his attention.

Furious green eyes jerked up at Katie but she barely spared them a glance, grasping her case and turning away. She had only taken two steps when a crash of papers and glass made her jump, a yelp escaping as strong hands clamped over her upper arms, pulling her back until her ass bit into the edge of the now bare desk. The briefcase was ripped from her grasp, thrown aside, and one serious Marcus Flint loomed over her.

"Are you kidding me Bell?" his arms caged her as he moved flush against her form, intimidating in size and scowl. Katie's blue eyes widened, confused as to why her fists weren't pummelling the brute by now and ashamed at the rising shot of heat that screamed 'Hallelujah!' from her cunt. "You better be kidding." Katie instinctively leaned back as Marcus leaned forward, coming in close to sniff the air above her throat. "Because that wasn't 'No' you were screaming the other night."

"I thought you were Oliver," she bit out, a tad too breathily as Marcus' fingers began to undo her black blazer buttons, her own hands stuck on the surface of the desk.

"Wood? Was that why you were so eager?" he asked conversationally, finished with her jacket and now plucking at her beige silk shirt, tugging it from her pants. "Directing him. Demanding. Begging?" Buttons flew across the room and Katie gasped as one large thigh was insinuated tightly between her legs. "Does he really need so much of a build-up Bell? That's fucking pathetic."

"Yessss," she moaned as rough hands skimmed across her stomach and up to cup her cotton covered breasts, answering more than her need, not put off by the curving smirk that plastered his face or the fleshy hardness pressing against her upper thigh. Katie reached up for the first time, unpainted nails picking at his shiny brown tie; but as soon as the line of material was pulled away Katie found herself pushed back.

"Sure you don't have anything to say to me Bell?" Marcus was leisurely attending to his own clothes now, casually undoing his belt and slowly pulling it free of the loops. She blinked, dazed, nipples erect and pleading on her small breasts. "Because I'd hate to entertain Aurors tomorrow after you wake up and realize this wasn't what you wanted in the first place." She had no response other than to shrug aside the remains of her shirt and release the clasp of her bra.

Katie flushed pink when he just stood there, eyes raking over her nakedness and suddenly visible freckles. "This is the last time you wear trousers around me Bell."

"What?" Katie shook her head, wondering where the hell his mind was vacationing now. "Your secretary wears trousers."

"I'm not fucking Marta."

"…And you want to fuck me?"

Marcus chuckled, prodding Katie to lie back gently this time, the look in his heated gaze anything but. He released the hook and eye at the waistband of her pants, and then dragged the tiny zipper down.

"Let's get something straight," he yanked the black material down over her smooth legs, tossing it over his shoulder before returning one hand possessively to her hip, the other releasing the zip on his own pressed slacks. "You'll never have to direct me. I always give my women what they want, so there's no need for demands." He ran a thumb along her covered slit, making Katie arch. "The only time I want to hear you beg is when I'm hot and hard inside you." She was divested of her underwear, not noticing where those were thrown. "And yes _Katie_," Marcus cupped the backs of her thighs, pulling her ass to the edge, his shaft already seeking—she had a suspicion she'd find his clothes resting conveniently around his knees. "I want to fuck you. Repeatedly. We can try the couch next if you like."

A strangled gasp rolled off her tongue as he thrust deep, her legs twisting around his torso, heels digging into Marcus' tailbone in an effort to hold on. But Flint wasn't going anywhere without her, and Katie was pulled up, keening as muscled limbs thrust up and back, up and back in short powerful strokes. Their mouths found each other in a brutal kiss, one of his hands sinking into her carefully precise chignon, the other slipping between to where their bodies met. Katie's arm tightened around Marcus' neck, hands searching shoulders and back, nails scraping as buttocks flexed and a low grunt rumbled from Flint's chest.

At one o'clock Ms. Katie Bell left the presidential offices of Flint Enterprises, not a hair out of place although her lips were still swollen—_"You're not leaving here looking untouched."_—and her underwear was lost to the ages, which was as much as Marcus would admit to their whereabouts. Marta delivered her robes, not a smile to be seen but no underhanded, patronizing glances either. Cool professionalism. It seemed the older woman had participated in this dance with her boss before.

She walked down the hallway, head held high and briefcase in her grasp, all papers signed by the president himself. The Ministry should be happy with its new monthly donations—_"I won't. You'll have to schedule another meeting Bell. Like for dinner. Tomorrow night. I like knowing what my money is doing."_

No. That wouldn't do at all, and Katie had told him so. But conviction didn't stop her from looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Stupid Entanglements of the Emotional Kind**:

Katie should have been satisfied. She'd brought in more money to the Department of Muggle Research than it had seen in fifty years, was actually being appreciated at work, had been given a rare 1762 bottle of Firewhiskey for her birthday, and had pulled off a…nice one-night stand that her boyfriend would never know about. Katie should have been satisfied. Ms. Bell should have been walking on air with the smug look of supreme confidence written over her round cheeks and newly plucked eyebrows, ready to face her future, happy with her little adventures and harmless indiscretions. She had holidays coming up and should have been bustling about in her off hours preparing for a well deserved trip to the Caribbean with her Quidditch star boyfriend, trying on skimpy bathing suits and trying to lose that last annoying five pounds around her hips—or what she told herself was only five pounds. But overall Katie Bell should have been satisfied.

Should have been.

Unfortunately the happy face Katie had plastered on after last leaving Flint Enterprises was wearing thin and cracks were beginning to show. Beforehand she had been a near-screaming bitch at the Ministry and an over-affectionate lap dog at home. Now that Flint had signed those contracts there was no reason to be upset at work, to be sniping at her friends and employees, and nothing had changed at home—nothing good anyways—so there was no reason to play the shrew there either. Nope. Happy, happy, happy. Everything was great in the life of Katie Bell. Just great.

Except that she couldn't take a shower hot enough to match the feeling of _his_ hands on her body. Except she was still in a relationship where she had had to initiate every single intimate moment, and even then the stress of keeping up an emotional façade had kept those moments far and few between. Katie hadn't had a satisfying orgasm since that particular day several months ago. Her fingers weren't long enough, thick enough; the angle was wrong and she couldn't reach; the rubber toys Alicia confidentially suggested made her feel less than human, less than a woman. It was as if her own body had betrayed her and it was all _his_ fault.

Last night had been the straw that broke the camel's back. She and Oliver had been seated on the couch watching her old Muggle television set, sharing a bottle of burgundy wine after a too-quiet dinner. It had been a long day and Katie only wanted to get comfortable when she wiggled around, resting her head on Oliver's sweater-covered shoulder only to be grunted at and shrugged off with a "Not tonight." Something cold and brittle shattered inside Ms. Bell as she rose, dropping the contents of her glass over his finely knitted cream sweater and ignoring Oliver's shouts as she collected a few items and disapparted. Leanne and Alicia had been kind enough to fetch the rest of her belongings this afternoon—Oliver hadn't been there, surprise, surprise—and after being holed up in a room above the Leaky Cauldron all day Katie had decided that drinking alone wasn't satisfying either. Her limited personal supply shouldn't have to suffer just because she was falling apart, and so it was in the Hogshead that Marcus found her, the remains of four double rum and cokes littered around her table in the dim booth and a fifth one in front of her ready to be claimed. She didn't feel any better but at least now she had company…Two guys playing darts on the other side of the bar counted as company.

"What the fuck are you doing here Bell?"

Katie looked up and immediately wished she hadn't.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, just go away!" Her blue eyes were slightly puffy and, thanks to the whiskey and rum, red as well. Her professional look was gone, replaced with black leggings and a huge orange sweater that used to belong to her father. Her hair was slung in a low ponytail which she instinctively grasped to pull over her shoulder in an attempt to hide as much of herself as possible from the insufferable git who had taken it upon himself to sidle in beside her in the booth. He looked good. Smelled good too. "Didn't you hear me? Or does all that money make you deaf as well as an utter twat?"

"Apparently all that alcohol gives you a wonderful temperament," he took her drink, tossing the straw disinterestedly onto the stained table and drank long and hard. Katie raised what she supposed was her eyebrow then snorted, turning to rest her back in a somewhat comfortable position against the pub wall. It kept her from contact with the fingers that wrapped possessively and the mouth that licked and that was perfectly fine with her. He shouldn't be here. Merlin, _she_ shouldn't be here. "And I asked you a question Bell: what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Were there some papers I failed to process Flint?" Katie blinked her eyes and lifted her chin in imitation of the kinds of women he was most likely used to fucking into oblivion in his big, ol' office. "Did you not receive this month's accounts newsletter?" Her voice oozed bitterness, something a sober Katie would be loathed to express in front of Marcus, loathed to tip her cards. "I know how much you _care_ about your financial statements."

He placed the glass back down firmly and she was suddenly fixed with a green glare which held a weight she had experienced before—when she had insinuated Marcus had raped her at Halloween. A deep crease appeared on his forehead as he leaned in slightly, eyes roaming over her unnaturally flushed face and its twenty-four hour set of abused expressions. There was an imperceptible nod but things were a tad hazy. Katie was tired.

"Would I be here otherwise Bell? Now get up," he moved from the booth. "It's late and you stink." Her fist dropped from it's place under her chin.

"What?!"

"Do emotional entanglements make you deaf as well as a complete bitch?" Marcus looked at her blankly then reached for her wrist. "Get off your arse; you aren't staying here tonight."

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Katie didn't recognize where she did end up staying. Not that she had ever been to Flint's home but even on a good day Katie would never be able to equate the open rooms and lack of brick with where the former Quidditch captain lived. A penthouse. Did he really live here? Did she really care?

No.

The bath sheets were wide and warm and she didn't lose all dignity by throwing up on the pristine tiles. She stood for ten minutes shivering under the scalding hot water before reaching for the shampoo—_his_ shampoo—and lathering the liquid into a creamy mess, pushing and threading it through her lank hair that had been soaked in tears and rage all day. She was so fucking stupid. Alicia had been right in every look and non-verbalized hug on all those culminated Tuesdays Katie and Oliver had had dinner with her and George: _You aren't happy; it's time to move on_. And she wasn't happy, hadn't been happy in her heart for a very long time. There was no happiness in living with an uncommunicative rock, no life to be found with someone who didn't reach back, and certainly no joy after three years with a sexually deprived cunt and a very, very light ring finger.

Katie moved his soap up and down her arms slowly, watching the white spirals of foam drip off her flesh and down the drain. She brought the large bar up her fit stomach—it was settling down now; the silence and the hot water helped—but shuddered as it brushed across her breasts, as if a living memory was being dragged through her pores, and the bar fell to the porcelain with a loud clatter.

"Fuck!" Katie bit out, the sound making her jumpy and forcing the unnecessary reaction.

"Katie?" The bathroom door opened and the blond shivered, a stream of hot air sucked out and leaving her wanting. "You alright?" Katie grasped the blue shower curtain and peeked out, an angry curse on her tongue that didn't make it when she saw him standing in green pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt.

"I—I dropped the soap."

There was a pregnant pause before the door opened further and Marcus leaned against the frame.

"Then let's see you pick it up."

Katie's blue eyes narrowed while his reflected only mirth. "I'm surprised it's taken you this long to smell like me again." _What?_ Something clenched inside of Katie at his frankness. She swallowed.

"If you wanted someone to break-in your shower then why didn't you write?" Marcus shrugged.

"I already made the first move. You're the one that didn't come back."

Katie blinked, again, and then shook her head, getting annoyed at the distracting spray and almost losing her hold on the curtain.

"Your _move_?! Fucking me in the dark and then luring me to your office under the guise of government support? _That_ was your move?!"

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She sat in a comfortably sturdy armchair in a thick brown robe decidedly not looking at Marcus while he sipped brandy from his position on the king sized bed. He'd sent her clothes to the laundry which had resulted in a wet wash cloth being thrown in his face; wands were drawn but he'd simply dried her hair while she took care of the soaked fabric falling down his chest and a silent truce was called. Ms. Bell flipped through a magazine that thankfully had nothing to do with Quidditch, though only seeing the photos and cologne ads, wishing she was still under the water, pretending to luxuriate in it's intense heat. She had known intense once and water wasn't it, but this wasn't the time or the place.

"So what did your boyfriend do this time?"

"He's not my boyfriend anymo—" Katie bit her tongue and turned another page with a frustrated snap. "I'm not going to talk about this with you." There was an unfriendly chuckle from the bed.

"That's right. You told me enough last time." Katie's brow darkened as she looked up through mascara-free lashes. He was smirking at her maliciously, one foot flat on the bed, knee drawn up, while the other spread over the down-filled duvet to claim all available space. The amber alcohol sloshed gently as Marcus rhythmically shook the glass.

"You don't know anything Flint," she tossed the magazine down and walked over to the window, staring down at the city, at the darkness and the lights, wondering why she just hadn't Apparated back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Don't I?" he sneered, the overhead lights reflected in his emerald gaze, but she didn't see and he didn't like it. "I know you well enough Bell, and I think you are in such a desperate state for a good _fuck_ that you concocted this whole bloody beak-up just to get me out after you." Katie whirled around, mouth open in a hateful snarl.

"How dare you—" The brandy snifter was thrown against the wall, shattering like frost onto the carpet.

"How dare I?!" Flint bellowed, off the bed and fast approaching. Katie wasn't backing down though her eyes had widened at his aggressive display. She wasn't fast enough when he reached for her shoulders and gave her a nasty shake. "I put everything you bloody well wanted on a silver platter and you still went back to him!"

"What the hell are you talking about Flint?!" Katie pushed him back roughly, just holding back from spiting in his face.

"Wood! Cock-sucking ingrate pretty-boy, Oliver fucking Wood!" he growled loudly, kicking the vacated armchair and making Katie now jump back with some alarm. He noticed and turned away, inhaling deeply while Katie did the same. She didn't need this shite; she'd just Floo Alicia and get her arse back into some dry pants.

"You need to calm down Marcus," Katie shook her head. "And I…I need to go home." His hand shot out to encircle her wrist before she had taken two steps.

"Go home to what Katie?" his voice was low now, measured. "To empty rooms? Paper work that'll just keep waiting? To a cold bed. A man that doesn't love you," Marcus gritted his bright shiny teeth as he inexorably pulled Katie towards him. "Doesn't deserve you."

The retort of '_And you do?_' never made it out as Marcus' mouth descended on her own, one large hand gripping her waist as the other held on viciously to the collar of her robe. Katie's furrowed eyebrows had released the tension of wondering how the hell he was reading her mind in surprise, her stiffened form rapidly descending into a mass of gawky limbs as she held on, gasping into his mouth as the heat she had been looking for for months reared back like a phoenix from the ashes. Her hands were up his shirt, in his hair, while Marcus was pulling on her robe, the terrycloth rasping against her pale shoulders.

And he was right, the bastard. In a day or two she would have Owled Oliver, would have asked to talk out their problems and moved back in no matter how harshly Alicia cursed her into the ground. And Katie would have done it out of a deep seated fear of being alone and being called an Old Maid and just to have someone in her life who…who loved her? Who seemed to want a Katie Bell in their life?

She jumped up, forcing Marcus to hold her or be bowled over, thighs wrapping vice-like around his hips as they stumbled back onto the bed. She fell on top of him, continuing their brutal kiss and for once wishing that his original set of teeth were back, that she would have uneven marks down her throat and bruises on her lips, marks she would feel a week from now and shudder. He rolled over with a grunt, pressing Katie into the duvet with a full-bodied thrust that made her eyes roll, manipulating her arms until they were free of fabric and those gorgeous tits of hers were bared to his gaze. This wasn't going to be a sweet little slap and tickle and they both knew it; his mouth descended, sucking and plucking at her puckered nipples while Katie's back arched, hands moving between their tight forms to shove his pants and the rest of her robe away from needy flesh.

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"Look at yourself Katie."

They were in front of the mirror now, Marcus moving inside her with short, slow thrusts that had Katie digging her fingers desperately into the oak desk, her body begging for more—harder, faster—each time she pressed back into his hips. One broad palm skimmed up and over her spine, drawing out a low moan as it reached it's goal of twining into the sweaty tresses at the back of her head. He pulled Katie back, ignoring her keen as she now had nothing to anchor herself to, and nipped at her neck, increasing his fierce hold on her hip.

"Look at yourself Katie." A sharp twist of his hips, hitting something deep inside and making her sob. She caught her own gaze in the reflective glass—up thrust breasts, reddened and well massaged; blond locks tousled; mouth swollen—and Katie knew she was beautiful. And not because he said it.

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"I'm not going to do it," Katie said with a laugh, running a hand through her hair and reaching for the blankets, glancing at the pillow appreciatively. "I don't like it and I'm not going to do it." Marcus watched her salaciously, trailing his tongue over his own kissed-red lips. His smirk could have set the bed on fire.

"Why don't you like it Bell? You talk enough, you're mouth should be able to handle me." Katie gave him an incredulous look and snorted, leaning up on her elbows.

"Yeh, you get all the pleasure and I get a pat on the head—what's not to like?"

Now it was Marcus' turn to snort; he leaned forward though and began pulling the sheet away in increments much to Katie's amusement.

"Don't you know what comes next?"


End file.
